Book By It's Cover
by Spense
Summary: The BAU is an elite team.  Sometimes that leads to different expectations.
1. Chapter 1

Book By It's Cover

By Spense

Disclaimer: Don't own Criminal Minds, don't sue me.

* * *

There are some days that just sucked. There really wasn't any other nice PC way to put it. They just sucked big time. Today was shaping up to be one of them. The most important day to both me personally, and to the case I was working on.

Today was the chance of a lifetime. I finally got out of the FBI office in Spokane, WA, and was back at Quantico. Not as a cadet, no, not this time. It was 19 years later, and I was running the FBI field office in Spokane, Washington, and I was back at Quantico to consult with the BAU on a case. And not just any case, but the most important case of my career, and not incidentally, to the State of Washington. And that was saying something.

Washington State had the dubious honor of being the home of not only Ted Bundy, but of the Green River Killer, Gary Ridgeway. Even Spokane had Kevin Bianci, the Hillside Strangler. To top those three? A killer had to really go out of his way. And I had one. Lucky me. The only good thing about it was that it just may be my ticket out of cow country, backwater-Washington state. We grew wheat and cows in Eastern Washington, and apparently, serial killers.

I checked my watch one more time, cursing as I hurried from the cab up to the entrance to the main FBI building. I wasn't late, not yet, but damn close. My nonstop flight from SeaTac in Seattle had been late. The cab from Regan National was probably the only slow cab in WA DC. Plus, I don't think the driver spoke English. At all. I finally had to flash my badge and say "FBI QUANTICO" really distinctly. Then he got it. Finally.

My garment bag, slung over my shoulders, bummed the back of my calves as I hurried. I couldn't move it, because it was layered under my laptop bag, and my file bag on rollers dragging behind me. My brief case was on the other shoulder. I felt like a shrepa.

Security was another nightmare. They checked my ID. They checked my weapon. They checked my laptop. They checked my garment bag. They even checked my damn shoes. The metal detector lit up like a damn Christmas Tree as I went through it. Then again, then again. FINALLY, I was cleared. *#&(ing 9/11.

It was 10 on the dot. Right when I was supposed to be upstairs meeting with the BAU. Not just any profiler, but the "A" team. David Rossi's team. I'd read every book he'd ever written. What I wouldn't give to be a profiler some day. Getting reassigned here to Quantico would be my first step, and everything hinged on how today went. If it went well, and we closed the case, then I could make my move.

I was good at my job. I knew it. I wasn't head of the Spokane office by mistake. Now it was time to make the next step. Joyce, my wife, was home with her fingers crossed. Spokane was making her crazy. She wanted to be back where there was a little more action.

But being late wouldn't help. I grabbed for my phone with one hand, the other occupied with the rolling case, shoved everything back over my shoulders, and one-handed, punched up the number for Jennifer Jereau.

As I reached the elevators, I ran headlong into another couple of people who had been approaching the elevator as well from my blind spot. I lost my tenuous hold on the phone and it went crashing to the marble floor, terminating the call.

"Dammit!" I snarled at the phone seeing the screen go dark, then looked around. My gaze landed on the skinny young man with dweeb glasses, and a huge messenger bag looking at me with big, startled eyes. He had a phone in his hand, and had clearly not been looking where he was going. Intern probably. Or college kid on a tour. Probably wanted to work in IT. Great.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, clearly unnerved.

I could have that effect on people, and frankly he deserved it. I just sighed heavily and began to unload my luggage to get my phone. Another person, this one obviously an agent by the look of his suit and London Fog raincoat, bent down, picked it up, and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks, then looked at it, and started to dial again. This time the call dropped.

"Ah, it's pretty hard to dial internally here," the skinny kid interjected. "You might try dialing 1. It would go to the outside switchboard that way."

He opened his mouth to say more, but I turned and glared at him. "Kid, please, just stop talking. You've done enough damage." That probably wasn't being fair, but I'd had a lousy morning. This kid hadn't a prayer of ever becoming an FBI agent, so better he got discouraged now. The way I saw it, I was doing him a favor.

The kid snapped his mouth shut with a resigned expression. Probably was used to it.

Right then, the elevator dinged, and opened. I crowded on, and the people already inside adjusted to make room for me and my luggage. I looked out at the other two waiting, my gaze a challenge.

The kid dropped his gaze with tightened lips. "I'll wait."

The other agent looked at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah," the skinny kid said. "There's only room for one more. You go."

The agent nodded his thanks and go on. As the doors closed, I saw another man come up next to the skinny kid. He shot me a look of disdain, then turned back to the kid. I wondered if he'd heard the exchange. Ah, well. To bad. The kid needed a reality check. I didn't see much of the man in the micro second he looked at me except to notice he was distinguished, with a patrician, almost Spanish cast to his lined features. Considering I only saw him for ½ of a second, I was doing well to notice that. But then, that's my job. And I'm damn good at my job.

The elevator dinged again, and disgorged a group of us. I stood in the middle of the hall with people flowing around me like water around a rock, looking at my directions on my phone. I was on the wrong floor. DAMMIT! I snarled again and turned to get back on the elevator and ran right into a linebacker.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" A loud blond woman shouted in alarm. "Oh, are you okay?"

I untangled myself from my luggage and looked up to see that I'd run into a bald black man with shoulders and a chest as solid as the Hoover dam and about as wide. From the feel, he was sheer muscle.

"Are you okay, man?" The black man asked, concerned.

Probably one of the muscle men the FBI hires to break doors down. All brawn and no brain.

"Fine," I said shortly.

"Oh, here! And this, oh, and this," the blond woman was picking up my bags and my phone, talking the whole time. She was worse than the skinny kid.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, finally taking a breath.

I blinked as I got a good look at her. Loud. Loud voice, loud jewelry, garish clothes. Joyce wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near this woman. What she was doing at the Quantico FBI office, I could never guess, but right now I didn't have the time.

"Fine." I snapped shortly. This just wasn't my day.

"Do you need help?" The big man asked.

"No. Just wrong floor." I looked at my phone and sighed. Ten minutes late. Wonderful.

The elevator dinged. One of them must have called it. The door opened and the man gestured towards the open door. I walked in and turned around to see them gazing at me.

"Aren't you coming?"

"We'll wait," the man answered.

"Suit yourself." And the doors closed.

When they opened again, I was finally (finally!) at the BAU. I made the turn off the elevator doors and found Jennifer Jereau's office without a hitch. First time anything had gone smoothly this morning.

The office was practically floor to ceiling with files. Since Agent Jereau was the gatekeeper to the elite team I guess that wasn't surprising. I had always felt incredibly honored to have made the cut. Now I realized just how lucky I actually was.

"Agent Samulson." Agent Jereau had gotten up to greet me.

I sighed. Finally, professionalism. This is what I expected to see at the Quantico, the FBI's heart. "I'm so sorry for being late. Nothing has gone right this morning, from the late flight, to the idiot cab driver, to security, to having people running into me left and right."

"Not a problem," she smiled. "Some of the team is running late as well. I'll just show you to the conference room and then go round them up."

She led me into the BAU offices and up into a large, well lit conference room. As I dropped all my gear, she excused herself to go gather the team. I grabbed my computer and the file cases and hurried to get myself set up. First impressions are everything and I wasn't going to miss my chance to make a good one. My future depended on it. I couldn't wait to get out of Spokane.

I was finally set up, and had grabbed a cup of coffee, and had just sat down when Agent Jereau returned. She was followed by a stern looking man in an immaculate suit. Brooks Brothers, I guessed. Or designer maybe. Something expensive and highly tailored. His Ivy League silk tie was perfect as was the crisp, starched white shirt and perfectly shinned shoes. Now THIS was an FBI agent. Maybe I could prevail on him to help mentor me to the Quantico office. This man knew what he was doing. Clearly. He'd made it here.

Agent Jereau made the introductions. "Agent Samulson, this is SSA Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU."

_Unit Chief of the BAU_. Someday. Someday, I'll be Unit Chief here. But shelving those thoughts, I turned to the matter at hand.

"Call me Sam. SSA Hotchner, thank you for seeing me and looking into this case. We need the additional insight."

Hotchner nodded. "Not at all. And please call me Hotch. The rest of the team is on their way."

As Hotchner took a seat, the man himself entered. David Rossi. I thought he looked familiar, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe just all the photos from the books of his that I'd read. When the staff at the Spokane office realized I'd be meeting with him personally, I was inundated with requests that he autograph their copies of his books. I'd have needed two additional suitcases just to bring them all. I declined, telling them that I wasn't here for pleasantries. What I didn't tell them was that I did bring some bookmarks Joyce had made on the computer from his latest book's dust jackets and I planned to get them signed. I'd give them as Christmas presents to my few colleagues.

"David Rossi," I said as I stood, smiling, holding my hand out. "You need no introduction. I'm Agent Trevor Samulson, head of the Spokane Field office."

There was a minute pause that made me sweat for a moment, then he shook my hand. His smile was cool. "Nice to meet you."

The odd pause and the chilly smile put me off slightly. The man was arrogant enough. Probably believes his own press.

The uncomfortable moment was broken by two new arrivals. A gorgeous dark-haired woman with curves in all the right places, and a tall black man. I had eyes only for the woman. She was incredible.

"SSA's Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan," Agent Jereau introduced in turn.

"Call me Sam," I said as I shook hands with Emily with a smile.

"Prentiss," Emily smiled.

I then turned to shake hands with the man. I blinked. He was the linebacker I'd run into a few floors down.

"SSA Prentiss is our newest team member, and SSA Morgan is our expert on Obsession Crimes."

'_Expert on Obsessional Crimes'_. Wow. I readjusted my thinking from brawn and no brain, to brawn AND brains. Pretty impressive.

"We've met," Agent Morgan ginned as he shook my hand.

"I ran into him a few floors down," I explained. "Literally."

Everybody laughed and began to take seats around the table, except for Agent Jereau.

"Thank you for meeting with me, " I began.

"Hang on," Hotchner put his hand up. He looked at Jereau. "Where's Reid?"

"Coming. He's getting coffee. He was running late this morning," Jereau explained.

"You mean sugar, with a little coffee flavoring," Morgan grinned.

"That's all we need. Reid and more sugar," Prentiss groaned.

"Well, he'll be hear in a moment, so let's get started," Hotch indicated sternly.

Nods all around, and everybody settled down at the table. I took a deep breath. It was Show Time.

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

Book By It's Cover

By Spense

PART TWO

I was interrupted by a loud blond woman bustling into the conference room. All I can say was that it was certainly a surprise. I recognized her immediately as the woman who had been with Agent Morgan downstairs earlier this morning. The one who never stopped talking. And no surprise here, she began yakking the moment she hit the door.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I was trying to get these files together. Here you are." She began to hand the files around the table to each team members. I opened mine and recognized the information I'd had my secretary, Cindy, send over.

"I didn't get the information until this morning, and the formatting was odd, so I took the time to tweak it."

The embarrassment I felt at those words sent a wave of frustration through me. Round two for this morning. Way to make a first impression. I immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Miss. I asked my secretary to send it over yesterday morning. Apparently she didn't do it until THIS morning. I can't apologize enough. I've been having trouble getting her to keep to deadlines. Good help is extremely hard to find. But I'm sure you all know that." I looked at the rest of the group, smiling ruefully.

The loud blond blinked at me in surprise, then gave me a tight smile. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" She asked, including the whole table in the question.

"I'd love a cup of coffee," I said gratefully. It really had been a hell of a morning.

There was an odd moment of silence that surprised me, and that I couldn't interpret, then Agent Jereau spoke up. "I'll get that for you. Does anybody else want anything?"

Agent Morgan grinned at her. "I'd love one too."

Agent Jereau huffed at him, then asked me how I took my coffee. I told her, wondering why she was doing the blond woman's job for her. But hey, not my place. If Agent Jereau wanted to act like a secretary, then let her.

Agent Hotchner spoke up. "Agent Samulson, this . . ."

"Sam," I interrupted, smiling.

"Sam," he repeated, "This is our technical Analyst, Penelope Garcia. She's setting up your presentation. However, we like to have hardcopies available as well."

"Pleasure," I stood up, leaned across the table and shook hands with the blond woman – Penelope. Technical Analyst, huh. Fancy name for an assistant, but apparently that was how they did things here. Political Correctness run rampant in my opinion. But this close to Washington DC? Well, I'm sure you had to play the game.

As I sit down, I hear Agent Jereau greet somebody, who then slipped almost unnoticed into the room. Well, apparently he thought he was unnoticed, but I notice everything, and so do the people from the BAU.

"Reid. You're late," Agent Hotchner observed unemotionally as he glanced through his file. He didn't even look up. It just reaffirmed my opinion of the man. He was the consummate supervisor, with eyes in the back of his head.

"Ah, yeah. Sorry about that," the newcomer stuttered nervously as he slid into a seat.

Imagine my astonishment when I realize that the newcomer is the skinny kid from the lobby. The one who'd made me drop my phone. As I'm processing this surprising fact, Agent Hotchner looks up from the file, and makes introductions.

"Agent Trevor Samulson from the Spokane Washington field office; SSA Dr. Spencer Reid."

I blink in surprise yet again. Dr? _Supervisory Special Agent_? Who are they kidding? The kid looks up, meets my eye in recognition for a nano-second, then slides his gaze away, nodding acknowledgement of the recognition nervously. He should be anxious. He was a klutz downstairs. I don't know what to make of this. The BAU is not what I expected between the loud blond woman and the skinny kid. _Huh_.

While I tried to make sense of this, Agent Morgan was speaking to the kid, with a grin on his face. "Did you get any coffee with your sugar this morning?"

"Shut up," the kid says without heat, clearly paying the older man no heed.

I'm amazed all over again. The kid clearly feels he's on a level footing with the well built agent. _Huh. _

"Touchy this morning," Agent Prentiss observes with a grin.

Before the kid could respond, Agent Hotchner breaks in cutting the banter short. "Now that we're all here," he looks pointedly at the kid, "Let's get started."

I'm surprised that the kid doesn't even look abashed at the clear reprimand. And Agent Jereau isn't back, but Penelope is still here. So, not everybody is back, and I'm surprised that Agent Hotchner allows his (loud) assistant to stay in the room. I wouldn't even do that with my secretary, Cindy, and she is unobtrusive and a soul of discretion. I seriously doubt that Penelope is either one, from the look of her.

"Agent Samulson?" Agent Hotchner looks at me, and nods at me to begin my presentation.

I stand up, clear my throat, and start. The case is anything but straight forward. The sheer numbers of victims are the only pattern. As near as we can tell, there were three victims in the first crime. They were stabbed and strangled. The second attack was 11 days later. Then another one the next day, on the 15th of the month. This victim was bludgeoned. Then the killer didn't attack again until the 9th of the next month. This was a home invasion and the victim was stabbed.

At some point in my narrative, Agent Jereau returned, setting a cup of coffee in front of me, one in front of Agent Morgan, and surprisingly, one in front of the kid. He grinned at her in surprised pleasure. The tray she brought in also contained a large pitcher of water, and a coffee service as well as cups which she set in the middle of the table. Now this was service! I smiled my thanks, took a sip of the perfect coffee – Starbucks by the taste of it, a taste of Washington State! – and continued.

The killings had continued for seven months. We had an amazing 16 victims. And there was literally nothing to link them. Only a hunch that it was one person, just because of the sheer volume.

At some point near the beginning of my presentation, I realized that Penelope was putting my presentation up on the screen. I moved in front of the screen and was able to point out the anomalies as I spoke. I had to admit, as loud and obnoxious as she was, Penelope was good. I ended by with a map of Spokane up on the screen, showing the location of the murders.

The questions and observations began as soon as I finished. Agent's Hotchner and Rossi were the most vocal, as I'd expected. Agent's Prentiss and Morgan soon joined in. Soon, they were tossing theories around, but none seemed to fit. Finally, after a couple of hours, and some clear frustration, we took a break.

As everybody broke up and milled around for a moment, some heading for the bullpen, others getting their phones out, I headed for Agent Hotchner and expertly cut him away from the crowd.

"Agent Hotchner, I needed to ask you a question."

"Of course." He turned and looked at me from where he was standing looking at the screen.

All of a sudden, I was unaccountably nervous. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. "I was wondering if you could write a recommendation for me in regards to a transfer to Quantico."

He lifted an eyebrow on his otherwise expressionless face. "You would like a transfer? Into what department?"

"I was hoping to the BAU."

He nodded thoughtfully, clearly thinking. I sweated internally as he composed his thoughts. Finally he spoke. "No."

It took me a moment to process what he'd just said. _No?_ Just like that? Was he serious? Not many agents had the record that I did. It was exemplary, and I'd been rising fast. So, 'No'?

He continued speaking, elaborating on his answer. "I would suggest you take the classes first, and see if this is something you really want. Profilers' are required to think outside the box, and to look to behavior first. You have to put aside your personal biases, and not make any assumptions on first impressions. You have to look to the behavior first, then draw your conclusions. You don't strike me as a person who is willing to do that."

My anger rose. How could he possible assume that? He'd seen me for maybe 2 hours, and we hadn't had any personal discussions. He didn't know me from _Jack_! And I hadn't noticed they'd gotten very far with the 'behavior, then assumption' method in my case.

Before I could respond, he looked around me back toward the table and the skinny kid, and his gaze sharpened. "Reid?"

That single question held a multiple of layers that I couldn't interpret. Suddenly, the room went quiet, and I noticed that everybody in the BAU team had their laser gazes trained intently on the skinny kid who seemed oblivious to the attention. Slowly, the team ghosted back towards their seats, focused expectantly on the geeky kid. I followed, trying hard to tap down my anger.

The skinny kid was staring at my map up on the screen. He was leaning forward, slack jawed. His chin was forward and his mouth open as he stared intently. As everybody silently took their seats, Agent Hotchner said again, quietly, almost gently, like he was coaxing a nervous animal, "Reid?"

To my shock, the kid ignored his supervisor still staring at the map. Suddenly he spoke. "Garcia! I need you to widen the map to the whole city limits." Then he was up and moving towards the screen.

The blond woman, who was just reentering the room. clearly didn't hear him.

"Baby Girl?" I looked in astonishment at Agent Morgan. What had he just called her?

To my further amazement, neither Agent Hotchner nor Agent Rossi even batted an eye. Penelope herself started and looked at him, then at Reid, then hurried over to her laptop without acknowledging what Agent Morgan had called her. "What do you need, Reid?"

If this exchanged had happened in my office, Human Resources would have been all over it. My staff tended to be hypersensitive to that kind of thing. What was it with these people?

The skinny kid repeated his instructions, and the map changed. The kid stared at it closely. "Okay. Garcia, now put the order of the killings on the locations."

Once again the map changed. Twice more he had her change it. Once to add the street addresses, and another time to add the dates. The sense of expectation in the room rose, but everybody stayed quiet.

The kid got up close and personal with the map, staring and muttering to himself. Then, "It's Pi. We're looking for a math professional. Somebody with several advanced degrees in mathamatics. He'll have serious Obessive Compulsive Disorder, and everything will be based around the irrational constant Pi. He'll kill again on the 8th of September, 10 days from now, and the street address will be within the city limits of Spokane and will begin with an 8."

I froze. How on earth did he come up with that? Clearly I wasn't the only person who felt that way, because Agent Morgan spoke up.

"Kid, how in hell did you arrive at that?"

Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought of him as a kid.

The kid answered quickly, as though his thoughts were going too fast for his words. He verbally stumbled over himself trying to explain.

"Garcia, put a calendar up from March forward. Circle the dates of the killings." As she did so, he pointed to the numbers of the dates. "March 3rd was first. Then March 14, the March 15. After that was April 9, then April 26. Then May 5th. Followed by June 3rd, 5th, 8thand 9th. July was the 7th and 9th. August was the 3rd and 23rd. Pi is 3.141592653589793238. The pattern fits clear down to the latest killing. The next one will be on September 8th."

The kid paused for breath, as we all digested that amazing bit of information. Then he continued. "If you look at the addresses, you'll see that each of the house numbers begins with the number in the Pi sequence. It's different from the dates of the killings because he uses only single digits. The March 3rd killing was in the third month, the third day, on the 30th block. All beginning with three. But the second date was March 14. He dropped the month, chose a 2 digit date because it was next in the date sequence, but chose a house in the 1st block because that house number began with 1, and that was the next number in Pi. The March 15th killing was on the 15th, next number date in sequence, but the house number began with 4, because that was the next single digit."

Rossi broke in. "So follow single digits in order for the house numbers, and the dates in sequence, and ignore the month."

"Exactly," the kid finished excitedly. "And three victims for the first murder because that is the largest number in the sequence. Then one for each of the following. 16 victims so far."

Agent Hotchner looked at me. "Do you have somebody with that profile in your suspect pool?"

"What suspect pool?" I asked bitterly. "We hadn't even been able to link them."

"Well, now you have the link," Rossi said. "You can build on the profile."

"Are you sure that the kid . . ..ah, Reid," I began.

"Dr. Reid," Agent Rossi interjected smoothly.

". . . Dr. Reid is correct? It could be a coincidence."

"No coincidence," Penelope broke in excitedly from where she'd been typing madly on the keyboard. "Here's your guy. Dr. Martin Lancing. He was a professor in math from MIT, where he'd just recently taken early retirement."

"Retirement?" Agent Morgan asked curiously.

"Ah, but bear with me, my doves. As we speak, I'm cutting through all the surface political speak, and am looking at his confidential file right now. He was essentially forced to take retirement because of his increasingly odd behavior, including his grading practices. Which seemed to be based on a sequence that resembled a mathematical constant not consistent with university practices."

"Let me guess, Pi," Agent Rossi said dryly.

"And the prize goes to the best-selling author!" Penelope pointed her pen at Rossi. The pen that seemed to be topped with a . . . troll? I chose not to even ask. She continued. "There's lots more here. Basically, it just proves that this guy is off his rocker and he's our guy."

"Where is he now?" Agent Hotchner asked, his solemn face still a mask.

"Spokane," Penelope answered grinning. "Moved there in February of this year."

"Anything tying him to the case?" Agent Hotchner asked me, sounding for all the world like an attorney.

I swallowed hard and spoke up, pulling myself out of my fog of amazement. "We have some forensic evidence from a couple of the crime scenes, but no suspects to link to it."

"Good," Rossi nodded. "See if you can link him before the 8th of September. Otherwise, follow him on the 8th. If he goes to a house on the 8th block, or the 80th block, you've got him."

"You'll take it from here?" Agent Hotchner asked me.

"Of course. I'll get my office right on it."

My head was still spinning as the BAU team shut folders, got up, shook hands with me and said their goodbyes. As they drifted off, I could hear them making plans for lunch, talking about the case load, and generally interacting as they had this morning before we started. Agent Morgan was ribbing Dr. Reid about his coffee, Prentiss was talking to Garcia about somebody named Kevin, apparently teasing her, and Agent Hotchner was conferring with Agent Jereau.

But as for me? I could hardly compute what had just happened. In fact, I wasn't sure what did just happen. One moment, my case was open, and we weren't even sure we had a serial killer. The next? We had a viable suspect and the means to prove it. How had the kid even made the link?

The team was exiting the conference room. I could hear their light conversation as they went across the catwalk, separating for offices, the bullpen and lunch. Business as usual for them, and nothing at all unusual about solving an unsolvable case. But I was still blown away by the whole process. As I packed up my things, still stunned, Agent Rossi approached me. I was surprised. I hadn't realized he was still in the room.

I turned, smiling, pulling myself together. Maybe now I could get him to autograph the bookmarks seeing as we had some privacy. "Agent Rossi. I Can't thank you enough for all the help you and your team provided."

Rossi gave a slight nod, and smiled the same small enigmatic smile he had when he'd first entered the room. "Glad to help." He paused for a second.

I looked at him inquiringly. He seemed to want to say something. Maybe he'd mentor me since Agent Hotchner was too uptight to consider it. "Something I can do for you?"

"Yes," he nodded shortly, the smile disappearing. "I just wanted to tell you that if I ever hear you, or hear of you, speaking to SSA Dr. Spencer Reid," he emphasized the titles, "the way you did this morning at the elevator in the lobby, I will have you up on insubordination. Reid outranks you, and most likely always will. And I suggest you be a little more careful who you snub in the future. They might not be who you expect. In simple terms? Don't ever judge a book by it's cover. You won't like the consequences." He smiled slightly at me. "Have a good trip home." And with that he turned and left.

I stood watching the empty doorway, my jaw hanging in shock, and I put two and two together. Rossi was the man who had come up to speak to Reid as the elevator doors shut. And he'd heard the whole thing.

Like I said, this day sucked lemons. The whole frickin damn day. Cow country was looking pretty good right now.


End file.
